You Cannot Elude A Domino
by Lillian C1
Summary: The Volturi: powerful, influential, immeasurably strong. Their fall was inevitable and can be pinpointed to a single, seemingly innocuous event - the day a member of the Guard met an American teacher.
1. Prologue

The little LCD screen that folded out from my camcorder like a little ear framed the golden stone fountain to perfection. Sprays of water glittered behind a couple sharing an intimate moment while seated on its steps. The song of the old woman we had seen at a high window hanging out her clothes swelled softly around us.

"This will be _loverly_," I commented to myself.

"Miss Dawes, I'm hungry."

Unless I choose to edit out the sound from this clip, all the students back home destined to watch this little production will hear me sigh angrily at the irritating teenage boy at my side and say, "Patrick! I'm recording!"

"Record this," Patrick shoved his face into the camera lens. "I'm starving! Miss Dawes tried to make us eat _fish_ for breakfast this morning! I ain't having no fish this time. People come to Italy to eat pizza!"

"Well, Patrick. We are no longer in a coastal town," I pulled a clean cloth out of my satchel to wipe off the lens before resuming my task . "I'm sure you can find some food that isn't fish. And you can thank Signora Tunnel for breakfast." Truthfully, I had little more gratitude for the Italian teacher's menu selections than my companion.

I glanced away from the camcorder long enough to check the time before panning right towards a group of tourists making their way through the square. "Where did Jason and Tyrone go?"

"Hell if I know. I ain't waiting on them any longer." He sunk down against the fountain's edge and lazily stretched out his six-foot four-inch frame.

A rather fashionable woman led the tourists through the square while indicating various points of interest with a gloved finger. I followed the group with my camcorder and tightened the focus on two dark heads that towered well above the rest.

"There they are! What are they doing? Jason! Tyrone!" Neither of the high school seniors glanced our way, and they continued to follow along with the rest of the tourists. "Patrick, if you want to be fed, you'd better go down and get them."

Patrick didn't budge. "YO! JASON! TYRONE! GET YOUR BLACK -"

"Thank you, Patrick. That will do." I cringed as people of various nationalities turned in our direction, and I put away the camcorder as an excuse to duck my head from the attention. Being a high school teacher, I was accustomed to my students' bad manners, but that did not save me from the embarrassment that comes with chaperoning a group of boisterous American teenagers on a tour of Western Europe.

Patrick's bellowing did have the desired effect. My two wandering sheep trudged toward us rubbing their eyes as if we had woken them from their afternoon nap.

"Boys, are you not hungry? We've been waiting on you for thirty minutes," I said.

Tyrone slung an arm over my shoulder and gestured to the other side of the square where the tour guide beckoned a middle aged couple toward the growing group of tourists. "This fine mama wanted me and Jason to go on a free tour with her."

"Don't be ridiculous! This is Europe. Not even the public restrooms are free," I said. "I'm sorry guys, but we have to catch a bus in just under an hour which barely leaves us time for lunch."

"Lunch will be provided on the tour," a smooth voice interrupted. "You would not wish to miss Volterra's most spectacular attraction."

The beautiful male voice set my nerves on fire with something akin to alarm. His voice seemed affected, as if he were actively controlling its every nuance, and the accent struck me as a strange mingling of upper-class British and Italian. Perhaps this is why I was able to maintain a fair amount of composure when I turned to face a man almost entirely concealed by a cloak despite the warmth of the day. I would have been shocked to find that the voice had come from a normal person.

"Perhaps not, but we have an itinerary to keep," I replied curtly.

"Come on, Miss Dawes," Patrick pleaded as he stood and stretched. "They have food."

"No. I've never read anything about free lunch tours in Volterra when I researched our excursions. We'd better go meet Mrs. Tunnel and the others at the café. They have probably been waiting a while," I said.

"Mrs. Tunnel?" the strange man asked. "Do you inquire after that woman standing there?" He pointed toward a portly woman in her fifties who was speaking to the lovely tour guide, no doubt trying to put her Italian to use.

The other tourists, numbering at least two dozen now, hung about the two seemingly waiting for a word from their hostess. As I observed the scene, a distant memory fluttered on the edge of my consciousness, something from Sunday school perhaps.

_With persuasive words she led him astray;  
she seduced him with her smooth talk. _

_All at once he followed her  
like an ox going to the slaughter,  
like a deer stepping into a noose_

_till an arrow pierces his liver,  
like a bird darting into a snare,  
little knowing it will cost him his life._

"See? Mrs. Tunnel's going," Jason said.

"Oh for goodness' sake," I growled, suddenly disliking my colleague very much. I grabbed Jason's wrist without thinking and pulled him in the opposite direction. "Boys, follow me."

The stranger made as if to follow, but I ceased his approach with an upheld hand. "No. We are leaving. _Now_."

My three students instantly recognized my tone and obeyed. Though my heart pounded in my ears, I struggled to meet the stranger in the eye with a fierce expression that no teacher in an inner-city high school can survive without.

"Well then," he replied in a hushed tone. "I suggest you delay no longer."

I nodded sharply and herded my brood in the direction of the city gates. Our European tour ended soon after.


	2. Chapter 1

I waged a silent war with my hands, desperate to keep them still as the middle aged man sitting at his desk across from me studied my résumé. He held the ivory parchment paper between a thumb and forefinger while his other hand absently rubbed his jaw. Sooner or later he would pop the question, and as much as I have rehearsed the answer, it never seems to convince any administrator.

An abrupt sigh broke the silence. "Lucy Dawes," the principal said my name as if reading it aloud from the header of my résumé, "your credentials are impressive: Fulbright scholar, Master's degree, five years under your belt at a Title I school, National Boards. I'm not going to waste your time and mine with the usual tedious questions. We both know you're qualified. What I would really like to know is: why Forks High?"

Why give up tenure in an up and coming school district in California for a teaching position in a one-horse town like Forks, Washington? I could author a doctoral thesis on the subject of 'crazy is an understatement' and still fail to give justice to the truth behind the dreaded question.

So, as with all the previous interviews of the past two weeks, I delivered my rehearsed response, "I have grown up and then taught in the same school district. I'd like to diversify my experience. I feel this would be important for me as a foreign language teacher."

"So why not teach abroad?" he asked. "You're single, childless. You've taught in France during your Fulbright experience. Wouldn't that be the logical choice for a French teacher looking to broaden her horizons?"

I hoped the principal did not notice how I squirmed in my seat like a deviant student awaiting his judgment. "I have – that is to say – I do not want to go overseas anytime soon. I had a bad experience…" My voice trembled into nothing as I struggled and failed to respond without revealing the shard of grief that pierced my heart just then.

Fortunately, he chose to move on. "So if I hire you, will you eventually decide that you made a bad decision and rush back to California?"

I smiled wryly as I replied, "No, I could not think of a worse decision than turning back now."

He returned the smile and extended a hand across the desk. "The position is yours then, if you are still willing."

I accepted his hand and made sure I shook it firmly. "I am, and thank you."

* * *

When selecting living arrangements, two options caught my eye. One was a large home on the outskirts of town. It was well above my means, but I could not help looking into it. Apparently, the proprietors had not used the home for over two decades, so town officials had requested they sell or at least rent the property to prevent it falling prey to vandals, and they had opted for the latter. The home was absolutely lovely, somewhat à la Frank Lloyd Wright, but not destined to be occupied by a single woman earning a teacher's salary.

The other was a small, two room sided house near La Push, a reservation within driving distance of my work. I could boast no Native American ancestry, but having studied foreign language, the cultural aspects of the location appealed greatly to my sensibilities. The house was up for sale, but I had saved enough for a down payment, and a mortgage payment would be less than rent would have been elsewhere.

After little deliberation, I officially became a homeowner three weeks before the beginning of the school year.

My neighbors were kind, and all Quileute to my delight. They offered to assist with my move, but I politely declined. I had managed to move my meager belongings into my new home the day of closing. The house was bare, but I would gradually add additional furniture. It's not as if I planned to do any entertaining in the near future.

That first evening in my new home, I celebrated privately with a leisurely stroll about the area. My hair quickly became damp in the mist, but I did not mind. I was fascinated by the lush emerald forest that crept nearly to my back door. In the failing light, the air itself was clad in the green of its surrounds. The contrast to Southern California struck me deeply, and I relished the change. Of course, I might not be as enthusiastic about my decision when winter rears its head.

As darkness crept closer, I settled at the roots of a large elm tree within sight of my back yard and relaxed to the voice of Loreena McKennitt on my iPod Nano. Oddly enough, I found that spot upon the cool ground against the tree trunk as comfortable as the recliner in my living room. The air was warm despite the damp, and it soothed my lungs which had been too long accustomed to dry desert air. I watched the sylvan shadows upon the forest floor turn from gold to silver until sleep took me.

* * *

_I stood before my new classroom, but it was empty. A glance at the clock told me it should have been first period. My new students were gone. Terror held me relentlessly in place and forced me to look upon the empty seats. _

_Empty seats. I will never recover from the horror of them. Empty seats, missing children, parents enraged in their grief._

_My new principal stepped in, questions spilling from his eyes as they met mine._

"_I lost them. I'm so sorry. I looked everywhere but couldn't find them."_

_He said nothing but the questions remained._

"_I don't know what to say. My students mean everything to me."_

_There was no change._

"_Please say something!" _

_At last, the principal at least moved. He stepped closer until I could feel his breath upon my face in cold, fragrant puffs. As tears spilled upon my cheeks, they grew chilled beneath his arctic breath. An icy finger traced a straight line from my dewy forehead to my slightly parted lips where it lingered for a moment._

I awoke then. It was the strange contrast of warmth and cold that did it. The night was yet warm but my lips so cold it was as if I had pressed an ice cube between them.

My green fairyland had disappeared. I looked uncertainly into the dark forest though my eyes did not penetrate very far. I felt lonely but not completely alone.

I hastened inside and locked doors and windows with shaking hands.

* * *

My front door shook under the pounding of a heavy fist. I awoke with a yelp and hoped my visitor didn't hear it.

I quickly pulled on a robe before opening the door to find a tall, middle aged Quileute looking upon my small form with a speculative expression. He was not one of my neighbors and certainly did not seem quite as friendly.

"I apologize for disturbing you so early," he said woodenly. His eyes roved above my head seeming to scan the interior of my home, and I nervously pulled the door tight against my side in defense. He must have noticed my unease and his eyes softened. "I'm Sam Uley. I belong to the tribal council in La Push."

He stiffly held out a hand for me to shake. I hate how my hand trembled as I reached for his.

"Lucy Dawes. I'm the new French teacher at FHS."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Your move go alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

Awkwardly running a hand through his hair he said, "Just wanted to welcome you. This neighborhood is outside of La Push, but the council still holds some – uh, jurisdiction here." He pushed a slightly crinkled business card into my hand. "Call us if you need anything."

I nodded and watched as he backed away towards his truck. After scanning the area once more he stepped inside the cab and drove away. I glanced down at the card in my hand and noticed with confused interest that it was for an auto repair shop. I shrugged and went inside to get ready for the day.


	3. Chapter 2

_FHS Faculty and Staff:_

_I hope you enjoyed your summer and took some time to relax and spend time with your families. It has gone by quickly, and our first day back at school swiftly approaches._

_Enclosed is an itinerary for Thursday, August 28, and Friday, August 29. Dress will be casual. The office will provide lunch on Thursday, and the community center is serving lunch to the district on Friday. New teachers must report to the administration building for orientation on Wednesday, August 27 at 8:30. Classes commence on Monday, September 1._

_This year, we will be welcoming three new teachers to our faculty. Will Morris has just graduated from UW and will be teaching World History. He will also serve as the assistant football coach and will coach track and field in the spring. Linda Harris is moving up from the middle school and will be teaching freshman English. Finally, Lucy Dawes joins us from Lancaster, California as our new French teacher. I know you will do everything you can to make them feel at home._

_As of yet, we have been unable to fill Mr. Fisher's position. If we do not find a German teacher by the Friday before the students return, the counselors will need to rework the schedules. In view of this, please do not expect class lists before the following Monday morning._

_Thank you for being flexible. I appreciate everything you do. Let's look forward to a great new school year._

_Dr. Fred Boaz  
Principal  
Forks High School_

New teachers report tomorrow. I had actually been working at the school since Monday of last week, setting up my classroom, previewing text books and adapting my curriculum. Occasionally, a few of the teachers who likewise chose to get a head start on the school year stopped in to introduce themselves.

In particular, I met and quickly befriended my department head. Aracelle Delgado, a native of Mexico, taught upper level Spanish, and the stories she shared of her homeland fascinated me. She was an excellent cook, which I experienced firsthand when she brought me some of her mouthwatering tamales for lunch. I wistfully regretted not taking a more active interest in French cuisine and could offer her nothing more impressive than chocolate chip cookies in return.

She was also an amusing gossip – not spiteful, just nosy. I didn't consider myself one who jumped to initiate or even perpetuate gossip, but listening to Aracelle's accented voice inform me of everything I "needed" to know about my colleagues was deliciously entertaining. Thus, when she slipped into my classroom as I was working on a bulletin board, I grinned in anticipation. She never disappoints.

"Lucy! Have you been in here all morning? Did you see who Dr. Boaz just interviewed?"

"No, did you?" I asked.

"No but Judith did. She thinks Dr. Boaz has found a German teacher. He is young and single. What do you think?" Aracelle glowed with her news.

"Do you ever notice how all German teachers are male? I wonder why that is…" I barely masked my smile.

"What?" Her shift from giddiness to irritation was fun to watch. Aracelle was happily married, so I could only assume she had expected me to partake a little more in her excitement. I dearly hoped she did not fancy herself a matchmaker.

"I'm teasing you. I can't help it. You make it so easy," I grinned cheekily at her. "So how would Judith know if he is single?"

"He wore no ring, of course," she waved her hand dismissively at my ignorance. "She said he was very good looking. Are you not curious about him?"

"I'm curious about how curious you and Judith are about him." Judith Lindley was Aracelle's partner in crime professionally – she taught the lower Spanish classes – as well as socially – she had almost as little control over her tongue.

"Pff! I see why you are 27 and single!"

"That's _26_ and single, Señora Snarky!"

Aracelle managed a graceful eye roll. "Well, if you are so comfortable on the shelf collecting dust, I shan't disturb you. Anyway, he should be present at our departmental meeting on Thursday afternoon when we meet with the middle school teachers about curriculum alignment."

I frowned. "Does either of us really need to be there? French and German are not offered at the middle school. Who are we supposed to 'align' with?"

She smirked saucily. "You asked, not I. And yes, you are required to attend."

I tossed a paper ball at her head. "That's enough for my virgin ears. Are you working tomorrow?"

"No, Marcel and I are driving to Port Angeles for a doctor appointment. It will be late when we return."

"Okay, I'll see you on Thursday."

Light suddenly dawned on her face, and she looked at me mischievously. "Ah yes! You will be at orientation tomorrow. _All_ the new teachers must be there. Please, do keep me informed!"

"Okay, there must be at least a dozen other single male teachers around here," I pointed out, "so what's the sudden interest in this guy?"

"He's new, and he's not local," she said. "Trust me, you'll learn to appreciate those attributes after a year of Forks!"

* * *

Thanks to my conversation with Aracelle yesterday, I was curious and a touch nervous about possibly meeting the new German teacher at any moment. Of course, I realized how silly I was. Will Morris, one of the other new teachers at our site, was also single, and his presence at my elbow as we waited for the orientation to begin hardly affected me. Currently Will was pressing me with questions about my former school's football program and stats, though I had politely admitted to him more than once that I never kept up with that sort of thing. He must have thought I was being modest because he continued in the same train as I glanced for the thousandth time toward the entrance to the conference room. The movement I had seen was only the superintendent briefly stepping in and out.

"Think you'll make it to the game next Friday?" Will asked.

"What? Oh, no. I don't think I ever attended a single game while I was in Lancaster, and it's unlikely I will start now," I said. "Sad, I know."

"Dr. Boaz told us about you! Welcome to Forks!" the assistant superintendent's voice floated towards us from the room's entrance. She certainly seemed to have warmed up since that single, brief nod I received when I had passed her coming in.

I turned in the direction of her voice and felt my already paltry self esteem plunge into the depths of my sour stomach. _Well Aracelle, I'm afraid he's a little out of my league,_ I thought. I quickly took inventory of my appearance and found myself beyond mousy. I was sadly _teacher-ish_ in a lonely librarian kind of way.

This was nothing I ever cared to lament before. Why I should start now was beyond me. Maybe it was the way he carelessly stood in the middle of a group of nervous teachers while adorned in unmistakably designer clothing, his eyes taking their time to scan the room and its occupants. My eyes hastily flew down to study the pattern of the wood veneer on the tabletop so as not to meet his. An empty chair waited beside me, and I inwardly groaned as I noticed it.

Or perhaps it was the fluid motions with which his body made its way through the crowded room to that empty chair. Murphy never did cut me any slack.

"You do not mind that I sit here?" Almost a statement – the arrogance! His voice was too rich, too smooth. It slid too easily along my sensitive spine.

I could not imagine that voice mastering harsh German phonetics.

A slight jerking of my head was my attempt at a nod. I decided to become very interested in my plan book. It's always a good time to tinker with lesson plans, after all. Perhaps I was being rude, but really, he did not have to know just yet that we would teach at the same site and in the same department. At the moment we could still be indifferent strangers.

He disagreed.

"You are new to Forks as well?"

I had no choice but to look him in the eye then or else appear an utter imbecile. His brown eyes were a few inches from mine. I know these are silly things to say about your colleague when you first meet him face to face, but his eyes were positively luminous, his skin flawless fine bone china, and his soft brown hair aesthetically disheveled with warm golden tones.

What a time to regress to the level of my students in the hormone department! I hope I at least answered his question with another nod. I can't be sure. I don't quite remember.

The superintendent saved me from further embarrassment when he commanded everyone's attention at that moment and began to introduce himself. Well, I was almost off the hook. It was a good five minutes before the nameless German teacher removed his intent gaze from my face and turned his attention to the front of the room.


	4. Chapter 3

This was not one of my better days. Being new to the Quillayute Valley School District, I really needed to pay attention to the superintendent, but nothing seemed to be getting through to my addled female brain. If I had not been so preoccupied with the back of my neighbor's head, with the restless rhythm of his fingertips upon the table or with the occasional glimpse I had of his aristocratic profile, I might have had the presence of mind to be utterly disgusted with myself and refocus. As it was, when everyone around me began to stand and move towards the exit, I did not have the slightest clue why. All I could comprehend at the moment were the pair of mahogany eyes looking into mine expectantly.

I must have looked ridiculous to him, because the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch as if he were struggling to contain his amusement. "Are you not going to lunch?" he asked.

"Oh! I guess so. Are you?"

He did smile then. "Yes and with you, if you are willing." His voice was lovely, a singer's voice I supposed, but I could not place the accent. East coast, maybe?

"Sure. We'll be working together, won't we?" I extended my hand to him with a friendly but trembling smile. "I'm Lucy Dawes. I teach French."

"Yes, I know," he replied. Rather than shake my hand, he offered his elbow with a slight bow. Gallant but odd. "Daniel Lewis. German." I accepted his arm and was glad everyone else had left before they could witness our strange introduction.

However, I was vaguely surprised that Will had left for lunch on his own without a word. My lack of interest in sports must have put him off. Oh well. Wasn't the first time my bland personality failed to attract the opposite sex. Wouldn't be the last.

Daniel led me on his arm out of the building and into the graying afternoon. The outside air helped to clear my head a bit, and I began to wonder that I so willingly accepted a lunch invitation from a man I didn't know, colleague or not. I studied him with a more objective eye. Earlier he appeared carelessly aloof, and I had suspected he felt himself above his company. As we walked to the parking lot, his ever so slight swagger and the proud tilt of his head reinforced my opinion. But then, I noted upon closer inspection how his eyes constantly roved back and forth, performing a thorough sweep of our surroundings, and this almost belied his air of ease and confidence.

"Where does one go in this town to have lunch?" Daniel asked as we approached a very black and very shiny car.

"There's a little coffee shop down the way a bit," I suggested before ducking inside the car. I looked around in surprise as he pushed the door closed and walked around to the driver's side.

Having absolutely no knowledge of or interest in cars, I couldn't really identify the make, but I was pretty sure that it was hardly the car one drove while surviving on a teacher's salary. I hoped he didn't expect me to comment on his car. The only thing I'd come up with would be that it was curvy and smelled nice.

"The school is lucky our principal found you," I said as Daniel slid into his seat and started the car. "For a while it looked like there would be no German program. I suppose German teachers willing to work in such a small school district are hard to come by."

"It is fortunate that I saw there was a position here," he said, "but I had planned to come to this area regardless. And you came here from southern California?"

"Yes. Um, take a left up here."

Daniel's car pulled into the small parking lot by the Forks Coffee Shop. I recognized a few teachers going into the restaurant ahead of us.

As we entered the restaurant, Daniel studied me intently. I pretended not to notice. "Do you have family here?" he asked.

"No," I said before turning to the hostess and requesting a table.

Fortunately the hostess was able to seat us immediately. It gave me a little time to think of a way to divert the conversation from its present course.

"And where do you come from, Daniel?" I asked as we took our seats. I almost winced when I heard how brusque my voice sounded. He could not have known how uncomfortable his questions would make me.

"Alaska," he answered with a smile that made me wonder what the joke was. "Forks is an interesting move for either of us, is it not?"

I shrugged. "Well at least you are more accustomed to the cold weather and dead carcass décor." I indicated the various hunting trophies that adorned the walls with a slight wave. "Did you study German in Alaska?"

"No, I studied languages in Europe for many years," he said.

I raised an eyebrow at that. How many was many? I felt it prudent not to ask. "I envy you the opportunity," I admitted. "I taught in France for a year through the Fulbright program, but I never studied there."

"Perhaps someday you will."

I shrugged. "My time has passed. I don't think I'll travel abroad again for a while. Not with students, at least." If ever again. My eyes slid down to study my hands upon the tabletop while my mind drifted to a place it visited often in dream and memory. The inevitable, sickening clench of guilt in my gut followed my silent reminiscing like heart burn after a chili dog. I doubted I would swallow a bite of lunch.

"Lucy, why did you choose to move up here alone?"

I started and trembled at the sound of my name on his lips preceding such a question, and I was sure he noticed. His sharp eyes swept up and down my frame before returning to my own. How to answer? I had never even been candid with Aracelle about the circumstances of my move to Washington, and I certainly would not spill my heart to this lovely stranger – too lovely to be sitting across a café table from me.

"Oh, my motives were probably similar to yours. I saw the position was available and opted for a little change of scenery." I allowed a shallow smile to accompany the partial truth.

"I see." And I perceived that he did. Far more than I would have liked. "Judith mentioned you live in La Push. Are you Quileute?"

I smiled at his question. A few of my neighbors had also made the assumption that I shared their ethnicity. "No, my father is Middle Eastern and my mother Caucasian. I favor my father, so I guess I blend easily with the Quileutes."

"An interesting heritage. Your family is in California?" he asked.

"No, my father went back to Qatar after he and my mom divorced. He's a businessman in the oil industry. I don't remember him very well. My mother and her mother raised me, but they have both passed," I said.

"Does your father's family know you are alone?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I would never live in Qatar, and they are not going to move to America."

"I suppose your mother retained her surname according to Middle Eastern tradition," Daniel speculated, "but you have not taken your father's name. Is that common?"

"It is when your father's not in the picture," I replied dryly. "The name on my birth certificate is Lazim Al-Marri. I feel funny carrying around an Arabic name when I know next to nothing about my Arabic heritage."

"It suits you better though. You look far too exotic to be a Lucy Dawes."

"Yeah. Well, Lucy Dawes is more comfortable. I think I'll continue wearing it." I laughed heartily at his gallantry. I couldn't recollect anyone using lines on me before. I never usually came across as the type who would fall for them.

Our waitress approached our table then. I ordered a salad I had no intention of eating, and Daniel ordered a coffee.

Our conversation continued thus until we left the restaurant. Daniel proved to be very good at coming up with questions to get me to talk about myself and appearing interested in my responses. Aracelle would undoubtedly press me for information tomorrow, so I asked him a few. His answers were vague, and it made me wonder if I was a little too candid about myself. After an hour of conversation, I knew almost nothing more about him than I did before. Of course, this only served to whet my curiosity.

I snuck a glance at Daniel as we returned to the administration building. His expression seemed very controlled and uniform. I was tempted to tweek his nose or pinch his cheek just to see what he would do.

"Thanks for the ride," I said when the car pulled into a parking space in front of the administration building. My smile was sincere, and he nodded in acknowledgment. We exited the car and made our way back inside the building and towards the conference room. "If we don't get the chance to talk again, I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

"He took you to lunch, and the only thing you can tell me is that he is from Alaska?" Aracelle asked. If she soon lost interest in me as a friend, I wouldn't be surprised. I get the feeling she was hoping I would be her young, hip work pal. And I must confess, I am a little entertained by her disappointment.

"He did not take me to lunch. We went to lunch together. If you had been there, you would have come with us."

"Perhaps it would have been all the better," she speculated. "I see I will need to accompany you two on your first dates. You will be forty and still unattached if I don't."

A very girlish giggle preceded the diminutive woman who traipsed into Aracelle's classroom and positioned a student desk next to the ones we already occupied. Judith dropped her plan book and calendar on the desk before sitting down. "Aracelle, are you ridiculing Lucy's old maid tendencies again?" An outsider might perceive barbs in Judith's teasing, but I knew she was harmless.

"I can't help being a little frustrated with her. She spent the whole day with Mr. Lewis and has nothing to show for it," Aracelle sniffed.

"Where is he? Is he not here today?" I asked.

"Nope. He called in sick today and tomorrow. Dr. Boaz told Aracelle not to expect him back until Monday," Judith said.

"What? How can you call in sick this time of year?" I demanded. Judith shrugged.

Daniel must be really sick if he is willing to miss the two work days before the first day of school. I wondered if he had a stomach bug or the flu. The day before, he only ordered a beverage at lunchtime.

If I was going to be honest with myself, I had to admit that I was truly disappointed by Daniel's absence. My feelings worried me. It would be dangerous for me to get too attached. He screamed "player", and I knew very well that I had "vulnerable" and "untouched" written across my forehead. Fortunately, the kids would be coming back on Monday, and everyone would be too caught up in the first day bustle to attend to anything else.

A medley of voices filtered through the door announcing the arrival of the middle school Spanish teachers, and we abandoned our conversation for the task of getting another meeting behind us.


	5. Chapter 4

It was 6:30 in the morning, and I was at school going over and over my plans and handouts to make sure I had not overlooked anything. There's nothing like waiting until you are faced with a class full of teenagers before realizing you have missed a step. I had five years of teaching experience with a much rougher set of kids than the ones who would walk through the door in an hour, but that did nothing to assuage the merciless knots in my stomach. I was the new teacher again. I would have to pull out my tough, take-no-bull facade in order to command the respect of my students, or I would not survive the week, much less the school year.

I could not help wondering if Daniel was as nervous as I was. He seemed so confident when I met him last week, but then again, I got the feeling that he had little to no teaching experience. Aracelle had poked around in his classroom on Friday afternoon and told us later that it looked like he had Nietzsche ready to go for his German II students that week. Who threw untranslated German philosophy at second years, much less during the first week of school? I anticipated that Judith and I would receive an influx of his students over the next couple of weeks.

Every teacher's schedule had been posted inside the workroom, and while slipping in to retrieve my mail, I paused and allowed my eyes to drift to Daniel's name. My memory readily consumed his schedule, especially noting his lunch and planning times. We shared lunch period, but he had planning first thing in the morning while mine was directly after lunch. I shrugged and hurried back to my classroom, mentally persuading myself that taking such an interest in his schedule was only to be expected of a colleague.

I glanced at the generic black and white clock on the wall as I dropped my mail in a basket. It was now 6:40. The kids would not start trickling in until 7:15 at least. I wearily slumped into my desk chair rubbing my temples and wishing I had just enjoyed another hour of sleep.

The sharp aroma of steamed coffee perked up my senses shortly before a cloud of warm vapor soothed my sinuses. Where my lesson plans had glared up at me on my desktop a second before, a cappuccino, croissant and mixed fruit presented on a pristine white ceramic table setting now waited. I glanced up in amazement at the lovely, masculine figure leaning casually against my desk beside me as if he had been there all morning.

"What's this?" I heard the incredulous surprise in my voice.

"My thoughts exactly," Daniel said. He was looking about my classroom with a furrowed brow and finally waved a careless hand toward my bulletin boards. "Is all that necessary?"

I frowned and followed his eyes to my arrangement of postcards, pictures and brochures from francophone countries I had visited which I had posted on a powder blue background. Granted, the Parisian poodle border I had added could probably be considered unnecessary. It was a little superfluous and cutesy for high school. I had left my other bulletin board largely unadorned, intending to reserve it for displaying the students' work, but I had lined it with pages from a French newspaper which I thought would make a fun background. I squirmed in my chair. Was Daniel making fun of me?

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Daniel gestured impatiently toward my walls. "Your wall décor. It's quite lovely, but I find American adolescents far too lazy and witless to merit so much effort."

"Ha! Taking a page out of Aracelle's book are we? You sound just like her. And you entered the teaching profession because…?"

Daniel turned to me and smiled. Well, it was more like a smirk. "That is a story for another time, Lazim." He gestured toward the steaming mug on my desk. "Your coffee is getting cold."

I rolled my eyes at his casual use of my birth name and set the frothy beverage to my lips. "Thanks for breakfast," I said, but looking up I found my classroom empty once more. I shook my head. "The kids are going to eat him alive," I murmured. I could have sworn I heard his laughter down the hall, as if in answer to my cheek.

_Lazim._ I shivered at the memory of his cultured voice forming the sounds of my Arabic name. _You look far too exotic to be a Lucy Dawes._ My hands automatically pulled open the top desk drawer where I had placed a compact mirror. I opened it and peered curiously at my reflection. My black hair lay in soft waves upon my shoulders and was partially pulled away from my face with a pink cloisonné barrette that matched my sweater. My complexion was not quite the copper of the Quileutes but was dark enough to set me apart from Caucasians. My eyes were obsidian, each iris hardly distinguishable from the pupil, but they were large and bright. "Bambi eyes" my mother had called them when she was alive. The discerning eye could see that my eyebrows were too thick, my eyes too round and my lips too full for me to be mistaken for a Native American. However, I had never considered myself exotic. The population where I grew up was too ethnically heterogeneous.

I suddenly realized what I was doing and shoved the mirror back in the drawer. Surely I was not already in danger? But the fact that a few words from Daniel Lewis had me gazing in wonderment at my reflection like a preteen did not bode well.

I glanced down at my picture-perfect breakfast. What could have possessed him to do it? A breakfast sandwich tossed inside a paper bag would have been just as welcome. It was a sweet gesture, but the possible implications made me uncomfortable. However, I was hungry and wouldn't put his efforts to waste. Just as the last bite of croissant disappeared, I heard Aracelle step into my room with an accented "good morning."

"What's with the room service, Lucy?" Aracelle gazed curiously at the empty plate and coffee mug.

"Um, well, Daniel thought I might need breakfast," I said. I watched in fascination as her eyebrows did a funny little dance over her wide eyes.

"Did he? Well…" She turned abruptly for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

She turned, one hand resting on the door knob. "To get Judith. We both need to hear _this_."

"Oh good grief! Really?"

"Well, what else is going to happen today that will be worth talking about?" she demanded before heading to Judith's room.

I allowed my head to sink upon my desk. I really was not the gossiping type, but that has yet to mean anything to my colleagues.

"Hello? Is it okay that I come in?"

I looked up to see a waifish girl standing uncertainly at my door which Aracelle had left slightly ajar. She pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose with a trembling hand. The sight of my first arriving student was a relief. I fully intended to be busy assisting that student when my colleagues returned.

"Yes!" I said a little too eagerly. "Bienvenue! Please come in. I have a seating chart, so if you give me your name we'll figure out where you belong."

And so began the first day of school. Neither Aracelle nor Judith made it to my room that morning to accost me. I imagined that they were prevented from doing so by their students. They were however able to intercept me before I made it out my door for lunch.

"Oh Lucy!" The tone of Aracelle's voice had me narrowing my eyes in suspicion. "Were you just about to head to lunch? I did not expect you would be hungry."

"Really?" Judith chimed in. "What did you have for breakfast this morning, Lucy?"

"You two are silly," I said as I slipped past them and out the door. I heard them follow, but I continued toward the teachers' lounge without waiting for them. "Why don't you just ask me what happened this morning?"

"Alright, what happened?" Judith asked.

"I'm not going to talk about it right now! It will be all over the school. I don't want to be the one the faculty constantly whispers about," I said.

"Too late!" Aracelle remarked almost gleefully.

"Why? What did I do?" I moaned.

Judith sped up to walk beside me and leaned towards my shoulder. "Nothing. It's just that you-know-who will not give _anyone_ _else_ the time of day."

I suddenly felt a little too warm as my pulse quickened. I entered the lounge with trepidation, my eyes darting to and fro in search of one person.

Aracelle waved her hand dismissively at me. "He's not here yet. Relax. And you will spill sooner or later."

I glared at her. She had made no effort to lower her voice, so several other teachers paused in conversation to look at us curiously. We were hardly close enough acquaintances for her to make such demands of me, but then I probably served as little more than a diversion for my colleagues. I sat heavily in a chair and pulled a rather banal sandwich out of my Vera Bradley lunch bag to nibble on. Between the food and the company, lunch thus far was quite a letdown after breakfast.

That was until a movement through the door's window caught my eye. It was the briefest flash of deep golden blond and brown, but it was enough to pull me from my chair and out the door without so much as a glance at anyone or anything else. When I left the lounge, the hall was empty, and I shook my head in confusion, wondering why I had felt the need to suddenly abandon my lunch in pursuit of a phantom. What was I planning to do if I met up with _him_ anyway? Let loose a strand of incoherent monosyllabic babble, no doubt. I glanced back toward the lounge, contemplating an explanation for my sudden departure that wouldn't make me look like a silly girl with a crush.

Oh, dear. Was I a silly girl with a crush?

_Lovely!_ My thoughts pricked at my brain in exasperation. _It's the first day of school in a new district, and I'm meditating an unprofessional relationship with a colleague!_

Then a cool hand gently took my elbow, and I was suddenly happy to leave my berating inner monologue as well as my convictions on the doorstep of the teachers' lounge. Whatever happened to willpower?

Daniel met my eyes with an impish grin as he guided me down the hall, and in the glow that spread through my being at the sight of it I had my answer.

"I did not think you would wish to remain in there when you could be enjoying my company," Daniel said.

I rolled my eyes. I may find him irresistible, but he certainly didn't need to know it! "Actually, I was very much enjoying the company of a ham-and-cheese when you flitted by."

"You didn't have to follow me."

"Who said I followed you?"

"You would if you were honest with yourself," he said. That superior simper adorned his face so well, I could not find it as irritating as I should. "Have you taken your lunch then?"

"More or less," I shrugged.

"Hmm, I shall assume the latter. Come with me." He took my arm and led me toward his classroom.

I could not help my heavy sigh. "You didn't."

"Did I not?"

I served the delectable looking spread on his desk and shook my head. "Why?"

"Why not, silly girl?"

I met his eyes with a sharp look as he held the door to his room open and gestured me inside. He raised a challenging eyebrow in turn. His smile broadened when he saw a smile brake through my stern gaze.

"You know, if you were anyone else, this would be extremely awkward and a little infuriating," I said.

"Indeed?" He followed me into the room. "Well, as you dine, you may amuse me by elaborating on why that is so."

I pulled a chair to the front of his desk as he reclined elegantly in his. "Actually, why don't you explain your sudden interest in feeding me?"

He shrugged. "You had intended to begin the day on an empty stomach, and your choice of sustenance for the midday meal was pitiful. I find that unacceptable."

I paused before I took a bite from the apple in my hand. "You'll have to forgive me, but I find your concern a little odd. Why have you singled me out, anyway?"

Daniel rested his well defined chin in his palm as he gazed at me unabashedly. I don't think I have ever met anyone so comfortable in his own skin.

"I suppose I can't help myself," he said with a sigh. "There must be something in the wretched air of this town."

"Thanks a lot." I punctuated that with a resounding crunch into my apple.

"Not at all. And seeing as how I cannot possibly trust you at this point in our relationship to feed yourself properly, I have no choice but to escort you to dinner this evening."

My apple slipped from my fingers and rolled under his desk. After the most subtle shift in Daniel's frame, he laid his ivory hand upon the desk, palm up and cradling the partially eaten fruit. All the while, his expectant eyes never left my face.

A feeling took hold of me just then. I remembered at that moment a walk I had taken in the forest the night before to calm my first-day-of-school jitters. The path had fallen to my feet naturally until it was broken by a large hemlock. I had contemplated which way to take for a while, fancying myself among the verses of my favorite Robert Frost poem. In the end, I had ended up turning back toward home. I regretted it later.


End file.
